Seeds of Hate (26 page)
She had heard me. She was okay. I patted my pocket and smiled, knowing that I would always have hope. That we would always have hope.
Chapter
33
Freedom - Present Day
(Selah)
I didn't run away. I walked—strong and thoughtful, one foot in front of the other. It wasn't my first instinct, but it seemed to be my only solution. My only way of starting new and figuring out who I was. Who I was meant to be.
I spent several days coming to terms with my plan and building up the nerve to proceed. The gift—the box my father sent me—was the catalyst for it all. In it held the paperwork and funding for college, living expenses and the like. My mother's life insurance policy had been placed in my name after her death and would be released to me on my eighteenth birthday. It wasn't enough to live off of indefinitely, but it would be plenty to begin with.
Frank and Aunt Carolyn were the only other road block. To tell them? Not tell them? Lie? When they came back, expecting me to be with my father, their response was unsurprising, but hurtful. I don't know why I continued to hope for more from them. They never delivered.
I was lying on my bed, head in my pillow and face covered with tears. The following morning—the day after my birthday—I was still crying and I couldn't stop. Aunt Carolyn knocked on the door to my room and turned off my stereo.
"Must you listen to that song on repeat, Selah?" she asked.
I didn't reply.
"I spoke with your father. He said he couldn't make it. Is that why you're crying?"
In my mind I was screaming. Words were flying from my mouth and at her face, but my lips never moved.
"I don't deserve this whining. Or this silence."
The bed bowed under her weight as she sat next to me and stroked my back. I flinched at the contact. It was the first time she had reached out to me in years.
"Your father has his reasons, Selah, and the sooner you can put your chin up and move on, the better you'll be." Her hand continued to stroke my back. The tip of her fingernails grazed the back of my dress. I hadn't changed since yesterday afternoon.
"You're no longer a child, so stop acting like one. Uncle Frank and I have taken great care of you. Have we not?"
Her words were meant to be comforting, but they spilled from her mouth like burning embers. No real fire but covered with a hot, heavy glow. I had never called Frank
Uncle
either. Referring to him that way made her feel better, but me worse. Everything they did made me feel worse. Which made this decision easy.
I'll admit that seeing Javier, having him show up unexpectedly, made me want to throw it all out the window. He was the best thing to ever happen to me. Izzy too. But they both had plans. Plans for college, plans to grow up and move on. If I stayed, I knew we'd hold each other back. We'd make decisions based on the other person’s needs and wants. And for once, both of us needed to be selfish. We needed to have only ourselves to care for. Otherwise we'd be in the same situation we were now, but for each other.
I didn't want that. I couldn't have that—regardless of the comfort that would come with it.
***
I lay down, turned my head and checked the time—2:30 AM. Three more minutes of painful tossing and I was asleep. A small blade of light cut through the curtains. I rolled over and away—4:00 AM. The red numbers on my clock bled into my vision and I pulled up my sheets, wiping the sweat dripping from my forehead. A small vibrating hum echoed in the background and the air turned cold. I settled back into bed.
My eyes pinched as I tried to find comfort.
The blackness descended and I found peace. I couldn't sleep forever, but I was willing to try.
A loud banging startled me awake. The sun was out, but the sky was dark. The knocking continued. I adjusted my skirt from the night before, pulled on my top and left my bed—mascara still coating my skin. I wiped away what I could and left what would always be. Twisting the handle, I stepped back and opened the door, my right hand gripping the edge.
"Housekeeping?" asked the petite lady, dressed in black and white.
"No, no thank you," I replied.
I closed the door, locked it and leaned against the grain, sliding down to the floor. I placed my hands in my face and cried.
My tears stopped a few minutes later. It didn't take long to be emptied. Gripping the air, I left myself fall, away from this moment and away from my father. My eyes blinked closed and I focused on everything else.
Swings. Cinderella. Holding Hands. Cake.
Where do I go from here? My here that is nowhere? My here that has no one? Am I free?
I can't go back. I don't want to go back. There is no back.
I pulled out his letter. My father’s final words. His final truth. The first line was all I needed.
Selah,
I am not coming home. I can't ever come home. I am sorry.
If you asked me if I looked behind at what I was leaving, I'd say no. But I did, however, look to my side. Hopeful, that one day when we were both ready, Javier would find me. And I him. And that neither of us would follow each other, but we'd find each other’s hands and walk together.
For once, I was free. It all existed in front of me—my future—everything I could want or need.
My mother was dead and my father didn't want me. So I said, "Go."
"Go, Selah. Go on and make it better. All of it."
A Note to the Readers
Seeds of Hate is book one of two in a series. The second book is scheduled to come out in early 2013. It is not a companion novel, but a continuation of Selah and Javier’s story. She had hoped for it to be released earlier, but Melissa will be taking some time off to spend with her family as they welcome their second child this July, 2013.
Acknowledgments
For the longest time I didn’t believe that I could actually do this. Write a book. And then I stumbled upon a group of people who supported me, encouraged me, and believed in me. They told me that I could and so I did.
My husband has always been a believer and one of my biggest supporters, but he isn’t a writer and being the love that he is never pressured me or forced me to complete anything. He left that to me. And for our marriage's sake, I’m extremely grateful. He is the best decision I ever made.
Amongst him, there are two other definitive people who have been influential in the making of this book: Melissa Brown and Dave Newell.
Dave basically taught me how to write. He showed me what was and what wasn’t working, so if you like my style, thank him. The style is very much my own, but he helped me to uncover it and trim away all the excess wordiness.
Brownie, well there isn’t a better way to say it other than I love her to pieces. She taught me to finish what I started. She helped me set goals, gave me deadlines and kept me accountable to my dream. She never let me give up and for that I’ll never give up on her.
And last, but surely not least I must thank my family. My mom, dad and my sister who have all been there since the day I was born. Their endless love, support and encouragement in my life is irreplaceable and I am blessed beyond measure for their presence.
About the Author
Melissa Perea was born and raised in Southern California. She currently resides in San Diego with her husband and children. Seeds of Hate is her first novel.
Connect with Melissa:
facebook.com/authormelissaperea
Twitter: @melissaperea
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